


The Ashes of our Love

by AnnaPotatoGoddess



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Romance, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1305430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaPotatoGoddess/pseuds/AnnaPotatoGoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ash fell from the grey skies in clumps, forming a thin layer of soot on the burnt earth."<br/>"A boy stood in the town square, his disheveled, raven black hair covering his wide, baby blue eyes."<br/>When enemies meet in a field of blood and ash, and the impossible happens, will they be able to set aside their differences for the good of others, and for themselves?<br/>A Delena AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ashes of our Love

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries of any of its characters.  
> A.N: A Delena AU set during a war (that is a made up war with made up kings and princes(sess)) where Damon is a soldier and Elena is an enemy girl.  
> In Europe, the tradition is to put last names before first names (at least in the places that I know it is) so do not be confused.  
> Warning: gruesome (its a war. That means rape, murder, etc.), language, possibly sex. Also, I do not mean to insult any group(s) of people with this story, or be racist, or do anything of that sort.  
> One last thing: The title is temporary (I am not good with titles) could you guys help me? If you have any ideas pleaspleaseplease tell me!!!!!!  
> Thank you for your understanding, and enjoy!

Ash fell from the grey skies in clumps, forming a thin layer of soot on the burnt earth. The smell of smoke tinged with rotting corpses floated around the wasteland, which had once been a beautiful, luscious field filled with colorful flowers, and a clear, bubbling stream. But now, the blue water had turned murky, dyed red with blood. Puss had soured the brown soil, and the grass grew no more. The few log houses that had dotted the countryside were demolished, the valuables stolen, and the women raped. The few victims that remained were hidden, straining to hear the departure of the enemy soldiers, their sobbs muffled by bloody hands.

It was the first attack the Italian soldiers had made against the unsuspecting German civilians, but definitely not the last. The Italian men had taken over southern Germany in a matter of weeks, as the opposing force did not have prepared defence and offence. But now that they had lost the element of surprise, the two teams were on the equal ground.

 

A little girl was rolled up into a little ball, hiding in the back of an abandoned, half-demolished chicken coop. She was trembling as her tiny, tan hands clutched her knees, bringing them to her chest, and her chocolate eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks stained with tears. She had sat and watched as her mother was slowly mutilated, unable to do anything, her limbs frozen.

_“Where is daddy?”_

_“He’s gone, sweetie. He saved us. Now come, hurry, we do not have time to waste.”_

_“But mommy, I’m scared!”_

_“Shhh baby. It’ll all be okay. We will be okay. Now listen closely honey. Lie low. Stay quiet. Promise me that, Elena. Whatever happens to me, do not come out, do not make a noise!”_ Her mother had said in an urgent whisper, and then left Elena there, turning around and running towards the loud soldiers as they salvaged what little they could from the burning house.

Elena had awoken that night that night to a shrill shriek coming from just a few steps away. It was her mother, her messy, straw colored hair streaked with a red liquid and her blue eyes shining with fear. She was running, her pale legs pumping up and down, her arms flailing in frantic hurry. She looked over her shoulder, but the sight only made her run faster. She was tripping over her ripped, blue skirt, which was slipping lower and lower down her body, the string that had tied it up had been undone, and her apron had been ripped off. She was running closer to the coup, where she had hid her daughter, when she tripped on a stone, falling face first into the mud. She tried to stand, but it was too late. The three men that had been chasing her caught up, slowing down to a slow jog as they realised that their next victim was in not state to flee. They grabbed her legs and flipped her over, onto her back. She squirmed, but it was no use, her kicking and flailing only tightened the first man’s iron grip, and caused the other two to laugh as they watched her struggle. Her shirt had come unbuttoned, and the men were clearly enjoying their view as they leaned down towards her, a predatory gleam in their eyes, and after making sure the coast was clear, they attacked her, all three at once.

Elena had turned away until the moans and screams, both of pleasure and pain, subsided, and stopped altogether, but she had ended up looking too soon. She watched with horrified eyes as the first man took out a gleaming dagger and split her mother’s neck open from ear to ear, causing dark blood to gush out from the deadly wound. He then let her mother fall, and covered her naked body with her clothes. He turned to walk away, only to change his mind.

 _“We cannot leave any evidence. The General would be angered. You know he doesn’t enjoy our technique.”_ He told the other two in a foreign language that Elena did not understand, but she saw the match the second man placed in the first soldier’s outstretched hand. And she watched as the match was lit and thrown onto her mother’s limp body, engulfing it with orange and yellow flames. The fire licked at her clothing slowly at first, but in a matter of seconds it began to roar as it devoured the corpse it had been offered, until there was nothing left but charred bones, and the stench of burnt flesh.

Then, the three men finally left, joining the rest of the troops for a drink or two in the centre of the village of ash.

_____

A boy stood in the town square, his disheveled, raven black hair covering his wide, baby blue eyes. He is squirmish, jumping up and down, both excited and nervous about the ceremony taking place in front of the grand church. The white and green marble chapel was illuminated by the warm, summer sun, the rays bouncing off the polished exterior and falling onto the hundreds of people, all crowded together, waiting for the same thing.

They had all been called there for an announcement that almost certainly had to do with the war that was brewing in the distance. While no one knew for certain, the threat of a great battle was large, and had a reasoning behind it, although one that the young Salvatore Damon did not yet understand.

 _“You are too young to be coming with me.”_ His father had told him when Damon had requested to go with him. _“You must stay home with your brother. Someone needs to watch over him.”_

 _“But daddy, I’m nine, I’m old enough! And I can bring Stef-Stef, too!”_ Damon said, puffing his chest out. He was the eldest brother, six years older than Stefan, and tried as hard as he could to prove it to his father, day in and day out, until maybe one day, Giuseppe would believe him.

His father slapped Damon across the left side of his face. _“If you are so old, then stop being an immature child, then stop calling me daddy.”_ But then Giuseppe just sighed, turned, and said; _“You may come. But if you misbehave, you will regret it for the rest of your miserable life.”_

Damon nodded eagerly, the slap soon forgotten, as he ran up the mahogany stairs and to his little brother, taking the steps two at a time.

 _“Come on, brother, we get to go with da-”_ But he stopped himself, remembering what his father had said, and continued, his voice as serious as he could manage without giggling. _“I have requested our presence at the assembly in the square, and...”_ Damon stalled, unsure of what to call the man who he had, until his day, been referred to as daddy, _“Father... Yes that sounds about right; father has granted my wish!”_ Damon concluded, ending his sentence with a giggle.

He reached into Stefan’s crib, taking his five year old brother into his arms, and walking down the stairs. He dressed him in formal attire and placed shoes upon his tiny, squirming feet, and then proceeded to walk out the door, and towards the bustling square, his father already being there.

And there he was, standing at the front of the crowd, his colorful and expensive threads setting him apart from the other people. His brother was by his side, gripping Damon’s hand, squeezing it every minute or so, to make sure he was still there.

Finally, the low, booming voice of the town’s leader, Mondadori Alfeo, greeted the town, his short, brown hair smoothed back, away from his tan face and black eyes.

“Greetings, people of Collegno. As you all may have heard, our beloved King Damiano the IV, has declared war upon the ruthless and vile Germans.”

Mondadori paused as the crowd went up in cheers; “Long live the king!” They all shouted, their voices echoing along the buildings. Once the people had quieted down, Mondadori began to speak once more.

“The Germans asked for it, when they stole the Princess Katerina, the Russian princess who was to marry King Damiano’s son, Prince Terenzio. But there is no need for worry. We have already begun the war. The king sent our noble and brave soldiers to southern Germany mere weeks ago, and already, we have beaten half of the German army, and have taken over half of their land!”

The cheers this time were deafening. Everyone whistled and clapped, from the old women in the corner who sat beneath the shade of an inn, their dry and raspy voices adding little to the noise, to little Stefan, who was now jumping up and down with his brother, hollering at the top of his lungs. His eyes shone with delight, although his whoops of joy were most likely not for the war, but for the feeling of happiness that came from everyone else's lips, influencing the little Salvatore.

Mondadori motioned for the crowd to quiet down, and they did, giving him a chance to finish his speech.

“But the king needs our help! While many soldiers have already been trained, His Majesty wishes to recruit even more men! All you have to do to qualify is be healthy in both body and mind, and you may join our fight for glory! All men that choose to join the cause have three days to decide. On the day of the lord we shall leave for the capital, where you men will train under His Majesties watchful eye! Doctors, and even women healers are asked for as well, and if defending your countries honor is not enough reason for you to go, our gracious and giving king has promised one hundred gold pieces, a bag of grain, and two hens to the first thousand men that apply! I will be waiting here for the new recruits. You may now go on your way!” Mondadori finished, stepping off the makeshift podium that had been set up for him. Already, a large group of men had begun drifting towards him, and excited chattering filled the square as the citizens discussed the news.

Many were overjoyed - all they had to do was go and fight a war they were bound to win, judging by its current state, and they would become rich. For the families that currently had nothing, this was a miracle, although the richer lords, such as the Salvatores, were simply looking forward to fighting honorably for their country. They would go onto being generals, captains, commanding the foot soldiers, the only thing that the poor townspeople could be, and the cavalry.

Damon ran back to his grand home, pulling his brother along, who was trying desperately to keep up. Finally, Damon leaned down and picked Stefan up, then continued to run, occasionally losing his balance, almost tripping on the bumps and holes in the patched, dirt road. He soon reached the Salvatore residence, with its large, cream colored outer walls, and the brightly decorated windows. A butler in a shining black suit opened the large set of double doors for the brothers, earning a small thanks from the younger one.

Damon continued up the stairs and into his room, placing an exhausted Stefan onto his brothers large bed.

“Oh come on Stef, I was the one who had to carry you, not the other way around!” Damon complained, rolling his eyes when his brother yawned, his milky white teeth gleaming in the sunlight the streamed through the glass.

Damon quickly shut his mahogany door, but not before making sure nobody was outside, then reached under his bed, pulling a large box out from below it. Stefan sat up, curious as to what his brother was doing, when he saw the two twigs and floppy, green, homemade hats that Damon took out.

“This is your sword,” Damon said, placing one of the hats on his brothers head, and the smaller stick in his meaty little hands, “you are one of my soldiers.”

“Can I be a horse soldier?” Stefan asked, looking at the brown, makeshift weapon his brother had given him.

“You mean cavalry?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay.”

“I get to be a calervy! I get to be a calervy!”

Damon laughed. “Cavalry, silly! Ca-va-lry!” He said, sounding out the word, saying it slowly, so Stefan could pronounce it.

“Ca-ca-ry?” Stefan tried.

“No no, you forgot the ‘l’! It’s -lry, not -ry!”

“Oh. Cavalry?”

“Exactly! Good job. Now. I am a general. The best of the best.”

“Aww, but Damie, can’t I be the leader for once?”

“Trooper Salvatore, is that any way to talk to your commanding officer?” Damon demanded, his back as straight as a pin, trying to seem like a general. “Now then. Stand up Salvatore, and we shall begin your training!”

“Sir, yes sir!” Stefan replied, standing to attention, his five year old mind trying to come up with ways to seem more manly. _Maybe then I will be promoted!_

The two brothers played soldier until the sun had begun to set, when a knock on the door disrupted them. They quickly took off the hats, and placed them and their swords back into the box. This time, Stefan helped Damon push the box back into place, and not a moment too soon, as the second they had finished, the door opened up to reveal their father, a strained smile on his face.

“Come now, my sons. We best be heading down for dinner.”

The brothers nodded, running off ahead of Giuseppe, until Damon remembered something, and slowed down, continuing at a steady pace. He walked with his nose in the air, and even politely asked his father a few question, asking about his day, using big words like _specifically_ and _tremendous_ , to seem like a grown man. His blue eyes kept drifting up to his father’s face, hoping to see pride in his eyes, but Damon was greeted by a cold, blank stare. He slumped his shoulders, giving up, and left his father be, quickening his steps until he reached his brother.

“Race you - loser gives winner his desert!” He whispered to Stefan once they were out of Giuseppe’s sight. “On your marks, get set- hey, Stefan, thats not fair! You started before me!” Damon exclaimed, but ran after his little brother anyway, in a race for extra cake.


End file.
